


shall we dance?

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: sansa absolutely insists that brienne wear a dress to the banquet





	shall we dance?

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, you know.”

Brienne whipped her head around, staring at Sansa like she had spoken in a foreign tongue, which she might as well have, given her words. “Who?”

Sansa only smiled, rolling her eyes and keeping her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move, I’ll prick you,” she warned, threading the needle again through the garment.

“This is foolish,” Brienne muttered. “I look foolish.” She didn’t need a looking glass to know as much.

“It’s not foolish to wear a dress, Brienne. You are the greatest fighter in the seven kingdoms, like my sister always claims, but you are also a woman, and we are attending a banquet. There will be dancing, and skirts twirl so much nicer than breeches.”

Brienne sighed. “I will not be doing any dancing, Lady Sansa.”

“Of course you will,” Sansa insisted, holding a bit of thread between her lips. She broke it off from the dress and deftly tied a knot at the loose end. “There!”

Brienne glanced down at the bodice of her dress, where she could see what Sansa’s designs had been. The suns and moons of House Tarth, neatly embroidered onto her chest in white, contrasting the deep blue of her dress. “It’s beautiful, Sansa, but unnecessary.”

Sansa sighed. “Do you see how I’ve picked up your dress at the waist? It enhances your curves that way. You look  _good_. I promise you.”

Brienne bowed her head then, defeated, but certainly not believing her. “If you say so, my lady.”

The girl smiled, happy. “I do say so. I dare say a missing hand will not be an impediment for dancing. Now I must be off to get ready myself.”

There was barely time to react to her words - the  _implication_  of them - because Sansa had whisked out of the room in a flurry of dark skirts and long, auburn hair.

There was a tall looking glass in the corner of the room and Brienne eyed it with reproach. Then, with a sigh, she walked over to it and assessed the evident disaster.

Well, there was no denying that she would never be pretty. Her body was not made to be hugged by loose skirts, and even though she  _did_  notice that Sansa having picked at the waist made it  _appear_  like she actually had one, it was by no means flattering. But there was nothing to mope about. Sansa wanted her in a dress, and it was her banquet, so a dress she would wear.

The tables had been pushed to the edges and covered in food, several courses of meats and tarts and lemon cakes celebrating the end of winter in the main hall, and hours into the feast, everybody was drunk and merry and as Sansa had accurately predicted, the musicians had picked up the tunes and people were dancing in the middle of the floor.

Brienne stood awkwardly off to the side, watching Arya dance with the boy with the hammer, graceful and lithe, and it warmed her heart to see her safe and happy. She found herself smiling as she noticed the boy making her laugh.

“I never would have taken you for the emotional sort,” a voice piped up beside her.

She didn’t have to turn to know who it belonged to. Ser Jaime had been missing for most of the banquet; he still felt out of place here, she knew. Like his past mistakes were dragging him back, like every eye that turned on him whispered  _kingslayer_ and  _kinfucker_ still.

“I’m happy to see them safe,” she replied instead, only then turning to look at him. He had bravely donned the Lannister colours regardless of the whispers, and though she didn’t say it, she admired him for it. There was no use being ashamed of his family’s name. His own deeds brought redemption to it, she thought.

Jaime turned to look at her as well. She waited for a snide comment about the dress when he glanced down at it, braced herself for anything he could say. She had heard it all. “Sansa’s designs?” he asked instead, nodding at the lacework on her breast.

She nodded. “She’s a skilled seamstress.”

“She made me a new surcoat,” Jaime admitted, using his good hand to brace his other wrist. “A lion in Stark colours. She meant well, I’m sure, but I feel branded as a turncloak.”

Brienne said nothing. What  _could_  she say?

The music changed, and the couples shifted- the beautiful dragon queen had taken her leave of Jon Snow and was now dancing with Ser Jorah Mormont. Sansa had given him a Stark pardon as well.

“Shall we dance?”

The question caught her off-guard, and Brienne felt her stomach twist as she turned to look at Jaime, confused and surprised. “You dance?” she found herself blurting out.

Jaime let out a low chuckle and lifted his golden hand out towards her. “Let’s find out.”


End file.
